Rattling Some Desk Drawers
by XxBanditQueenxX
Summary: Edward Cullen, editor in chief and man whore extraordinaire. Bella Swan. Photojournalist and totally prudish Mary Sue. What happens when the editor makes a proposal the photographer can't refuse.'friends with benefits' story M for rattling of drawers!;D
1. Chapter 1

-1**A/N: **Hey everyone, I'm back with a new all human story. This one will be filled with angst and happiness, with some horniness thrown in there for good luck! I haven't given up on 'Winter of Our Discontent' yet. Just taking a short break.

Disclaimer: Meyer owns Twilight's character's of course. I do not own the _New York Times_, so please don't sue me. I made up the name _Faux Pas Fashion_, but there's probably a magazine out there by the same name. If so, this is pure coincidence and I apologize. So don't sue me.

Chapter 1: The Boss

I groaned as I leaned against the wall of the elevator. I had a hangover from hell, and it didn't look as though it would be getting any better any time soon. I made a mental note to kill Alice for dragging me to the clubs on a work night.

Mary Alice Brandon, who is quick to tell you she only goes by her middle name, was my best friend and my roommate. She had a knack for fashion and for clubbing, which when put together, equals misery for me. That's why when she dragged me to the 'all girls party' she was throwing for the girls at the office, I was reluctant to go. She worked as assistant art director for _Faux Pas_ fashion magazine, and let me tell you, women in fashion love liquor.

And so, after she dragged me kicking and screaming (well…maybe not kicking, per se) to Club Mystique, I returned home three hours later and passed out on my bed. Unfortunately, I could not miss work today. My boss would kill me if I missed a day on account of a simple hangover.

My boss…a delicious man of twenty-six who knew what he wanted and always got it. His looks help him quite a bit with the latter part I guess. He had hair, kept stylishly shaggy, of an exceptional bronze color. It shined in the most perfect of ways, and I itched to run my hands through it. His skin was a pale porcelain, perfect and blemish free. His eyes were my favorite part, though. They were a light shade of green, almost jade, and yet not quite. Around the pupil was a fine layer of tawny, which I've only been close enough to him to see one time--when he caught me as I tumbled down the stairs.

His name? Edward Cullen a.k.a. Mr. Unapproachable. Women, like me, were too intimidating to actually approach him first, and those stupid enough to were rejected harshly. He'd come to you if he wanted you, and when he did, you'd better count your lucky stars. His current lover was Brigitte Moureax, a French fox he had picked up last week in god knows where. She wouldn't last long, though--they never did. He grew tired of the same woman after too long and discarded them the way some would discard a gum wrapper.

Now, I'm not saying I think the way he treats women is acceptable, I'm simply saying that his looks would make any woman lucky enough to be approached by him cream their pants instantaneously. I am not one of these women.

I am Bella Swan. Twenty-four. Average in every way. Quiet. Shy. Wallflower. You know…a total Mary Sue. I've had one intimate partner my whole life (who turned out to be a major prick--a totally different story, though), and I couldn't tell if I was any good at intimacy. In fact, I'm almost sure I wasn't, on account of the fact that he found a new woman to sleep with after only a few times with me. The jerk.

Anyway, here I am at work--_The New York Times_. I know, right? An amazing job, one that I lucked out on when I graduated from NYU a year ago with a major in photo journalism. The place is literally a madhouse, with people and papers everywhere, but I wouldn't work anywhere else for any amount of money offered to me. Not that money is too much of a problem for me anymore, with the load the _Times_ pays me to take pictures.

I took my seat at the desk in the far left corner, the most secluded and quiet corner of the large office. The office was loud at the best of times, but it seems today that the whole office knew of my excursions last night and decided they were going to scream at the tops of their lungs to one another and play obnoxious music. Usually, I reveled in the laid back ambience of the office, but today I was in no mood. Deadline was only a week away and I wasn't nearly ready.

As I gulped down an aspirin, Mr. Cullen opened his door and peeked his head out. "Swan, can I see you?"

My head shot up. He had never asked to see me alone before. I stood up, smoothing my skirt as I did so. I dodged a paper airplane as I made my way to his offset office. "Now, you two had better behave or I'll have to put you in time out," Mr. Cullen called to the culprits of the flying paper with a mocking look on his face.

He opened his door wider and stepped out of the way to allow me to pass. It occurred to me that I had only been in his office one time--the day he interviewed me. I had been far too nervous and blown away by his looks to fully take in his office, but as I stood behind the chair facing him, I allowed my eyes to wander his walls. They were covered with awards, certificates, and newspaper clippings. He had a picture of what I presumed to be his family perched on a shelf next to a picture of him graduating from high school. They looked like the perfect example of New York socialites. Comparatively, my family back home in Arizona was made up of a kindergarten teacher and a cop. Not too exciting, and not too wealthy.

"Those are my adoptive parents," his voice said, breaking me from my trance.

I looked at him in shock. "You're adopted?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded. "Carlisle and Esme Cullen. My real parents, the Masens, died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I stated.

Mr. Cullen shrugged. "Not a big deal. Never really knew them."

I stood behind the chair, gripping onto it firmly. He was staring intently at me, and his gaze was mesmerizing, making me weak at the knees. "How about you sit?" he said, motioning to the chair.

I nodded and sat down swiftly, almost missing the chair and landing on the floor in my moment of hypnotized idiocy. Almost. I caught myself at the last second and tried to save myself from complete embarrassment by asking quickly, "So, why is it you called me in?"

He was leaning back in his coal black leather chair, which really looked more like a throne, with a calm and relaxed look. He touched his fingertips to each other and smiled. "Tell me, Swan, how's the 'Going Green' piece coming?"

"Excellently, I'd say. I took some amazing shots with the AP Environmental Science class over at the high school and--"

"That's great. It's drawing close to deadline, and this piece is essential to the paper. The concept of 'Going Green' is everywhere. I'm trusting you to produce some magnificent work, Swan. You haven't let me down yet. Don't let that change," Mr. Cullen said, giving me a sugar sweet smile.

I nodded and stood up. "I won't, I can assure you."

"Atta girl," he said with a wink before turning to his computer.

I stood to leave and as I turned the doorknob, I heard his voice once more. "By the way, Swan, that shade of blue looks good on you."

In my moment of being stunned, I managed to blush terribly and mumble a quick, "Thank you."

I went back to my corner and smoothed my shirt once more. Alice had said the same thing and had forced this shirt on me as we rushed to the cab this morning. I loathed this shirt only an hour ago, but suddenly, it had become my favorite.

My heart was pounding wildly from such a brief encounter, one in which I had been five feet away from him, that it was not helping my raging headache any. I stared at my camera and though t about the photos I needed to develop. While digital photos are amazing, I still enjoyed the old fashioned development of pictures. There was something classy and innocent about them.

I made my way to the dark room, where I could finally be alone and have some peace and quiet. Taking out a changing bag to remove the film in the camera and put into its wash tub, I was lost in thoughts about Mr. Cullen. Well, fantasies more like. He was my boss, and I was always professional around him, but when I got alone, there was nothing professional about my thoughts. Alice says its all of the years of sexual repression. I beginning to think she's right.

The whole developing process takes over an hour and after I had put the exposed photos through the drier, I hung them to view. I slipped off my sweater and turned on some light classical music.

The photos I had taken were at the local high school, where I had studied the environment and ways to go green with the environmental class for over a month in preparation for this assignment. I fingered one lightly, my personal favorite. The kids had gotten into a mud fight, and the innocence still etched on their surely impure high school faces was charming. This wouldn't be used for my assignment, but it was still my absolute favorite.

"They look good," a voice said, startling me.

I clutched my heart and spun around, only to come face to face with Mr. Cullen. He was leaning casually against the door frame, looking at my photographs. "You-you scared me!" I accused.

"So I noticed. Sorry about that, really. I forgot to tell you that I'd like a mock up of the photographs on my desk for review by Friday."

I nodded, letting him know I understood and he could leave now. Instead, he surprised me by walking in. "These are amazing, Swan. You have some talent," he said, gesturing toward the one of the mud fight.

"Those aren't for the assignment," I said, as though it mattered.

"Doesn't matter. My compliment still stands. Anyway, Friday Swan. Don't fail me," he said, turning and walking out as swiftly as he came in.

Great. Friday was my first deadline, and I still hadn't developed the photos that mattered. I looked at my pile of developed negatives and then at the basins of developing fluid. I was going to have to stay late for the next few nights. Alice was going to be so upset I wouldn't be able to drink with her. What a pity.

I got out of the cab in front of my townhouse in Greenwich Village around midnight after staying at the office for much too long. My eyes were tired and strained from spending them in the darkness of the dark room all day. I opened the front door to a dark and silent house, which meant the Alice had gone out for some drinks, meaning she had gone out to drink herself into an oblivion, one that she'd recover from before daybreak. For such a little woman, she held her liquor like a seasoned alcoholic.

I tossed my purse and coat over the back of the couch and schlepped to my bedroom. When the light flickered on, it took a moment to adjust. It was the brightest light I had seen all day. I moved to my drawer and pulled on my favorite sweats--which Alice loved to call my granny pajamas. I didn't quite care what I looked like when I was sleeping, who'd see me anyway?

After washing my face and tying back my mop of hair, I went to the kitchen for a bowl of ice cream--my dirty little habit. It was probably the reason my size 6 figure had moved into a size 8. Ah, well. Doesn't matter to me anyway.

I heard the front door open and a drunken Alice stumble I and whisper loudly to someone. I entered the living room and found her leaning into a tall blond man. "Hello," I said awkwardly.

"Hey, Bella. This is Jasper Hale. _Rosalie's brother_," she said suggestively.

I had heard about Jasper many times before. Alice had wished and hoped many times before that he would one day fall madly in love with her and father all of her children. I didn't know if that would happen, but he was certainly not going to leave her empty handed tonight if the way he was clutching her bottom was any indication.

Two drunken people are not very entertaining when you're sober--they're just irritating. And so, I excused myself. Alice peeked her head out of her bedroom door and hung Jasper's tie around the doorknob, giving me a sly look. "Don't bother knocking. We'll be a-rocking!"

I cringed and laughed as I entered my own room. "Sure Alice."

"Just because you're not getting any, that's no reason to ruin my fun," she scolded playfully.

She was right. I was bitter because she would be getting the time of her life tonight with the man of her dreams and I would be alone, my head swimming with thoughts of my forbidden boss. Man.

O.O.O.O

Well, you can tell me now. Let me know what you think. If you'd like to see where this is going, since I really only introduced the characters and office space to you.

Review! Please?


	2. Chapter 2: His Proposal

A/N: Wow. I wrote the first chapter of this story over four years ago. Before I even graduated high school. My life has been hectic the last four years, but I'm looking to write an original book. What better way to get back into the swing of writing than to add onto a fan fiction?

Chapter 2: His Proposal

How Alice could drink all night and still wake up the next morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, is beyond my comprehension. She was positively glowing as she recounted, in detail, her night with Jasper. I was happy for her, really. But I was growing more and more sexually frustrated with every day that passed, and her tales of being tied to the bed with her own underwear were getting on my nerves.

We took the same cab across town, and went our separate ways when we pulled up in front of the _New York Times _building. I waved to Alice as she rode off in the cab and jetted across the street to the coffee shop. As I waited for the barista to make my daily caramel macchiato, my thoughts drifted to Mr. Cullen. I desperately longed to run my fingers through his silky auburn hair.

What was with him complimenting me lately, anyway? I mean, I've worked there for a year now and exchanged maybe a total of 300 words with him in that time. Now all of a sudden, he's complimenting my work?

I looked out of the window and across the street to where Mr. Cullen was stepping out of the back seat of his black Cadillac. His driver drove off and I saw Mr. Cullen run his hands through his shaggy hair. Oh God, just what I was fantasizing doing to him. I bit my lip to repress my carnal thoughts, and the barista broke me from my reverie. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

I shook my head and began pulling my wallet out of my purse, wondering to myself what kind of coffee Mr. Cullen would drink. He was tall and strong, never sugar coated anything. Always ambitious. Lascivious. I handed the girl a twenty and before I knew what I was thinking, I blurted out, "I'd also like a tall espresso. Plain."

"WHAT?" my mind screamed. What was I doing? He would think I was just brown-nosing. Sucking up to the boss. Or maybe he would see it as a kind gesture and give me some leniency on that picture deadline… I grabbed my change and both coffees and strode, head held high into the office building. I was trying to maintain confidence in myself, though I felt it waivering slightly as the elevator doors opened.

I didn't make it all the way to 's office because, much to my chargin, Mr. Cullen was sitting at my desk, eyeing a photo of me at age eight. He looked up and smiled widely as I approached. "Mr…Mr. Cullen, what-?"

"Swan, what is that heavenly smell?" he asked, though something told me he was not talking about the coffee.

"Espresso? Black?"

He raised a brow. "You strike me as more of a flavored coffee kind of person. Sugary and sweet." He licked his bottom lip here (he freaking LICKED HIS LIP—something I so desperately want to do), and asked, "Who might the other one be for?"

I felt my chest flush and the blood burning in my cheeks as I stuttered, "I-I thought…Well…I…"

I just held the espresso at arms' length and he grinned once more. "Brown-nosing, Swan?" and he took the coffee.

I must have looked mortified at this point, because he rolled his eyes at me. "Really, Isabella, take a joke. Thank you for the coffee. Oh, and see me in my office after work. Promptly at five."

And he strode off. I stared after him, my mouth agape. What could he want? And how in the hell was I going to finish developing the photos for the "Going Green" piece if he wants to see me at five? I was seriously considering pulling an all nighter tonight. I sighed and set my briefcase and purse on my desk. I hung my coat on the back of my chair and set to work on my side project about the FDNY for this Saturday's paper.

The day went quickly and I delved into my work, not even stopping for a lunch break. I was only distracted when I heard a thundering, "SWAN, MY OFFICE! NOW!"

I jumped and looked around. All of the nine-to-fivers were gone and only the over-night shift was left. Matilda, an elderly woman who edited obituaries, gave me a sympathetic look. I cleared my throat and got up. Miraculously avoiding tripping, I entered Mr. Cullen's office.

He was seated behind his desk, feet crossed on top of the mahogany. His hands were crossed in front of him and he was giving me a miffed look. "Close the door behind you."

I did as told. I gulped and walked to his desk, like a child going to the principal's office. He looked so intimidating sitting behind his expansive desk. He waved a hand at the chair. "Have a seat."

He was so bossy. "No, I think I'll stand, thanks."

He raised an eyebrow at me. Clearly he was not used to a woman challenging his request. I held my ground as I mentally crumpled under his steady gaze. "Ms. Swan, I do not appreciate being stood up."

My eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Five-fifteen. I cleared my throat. "I do apologize, Mr. Cullen. I was just so absorbed in my work," it all sounded like one long sentence.

He nodded appreciatively. "I can understand that."

He was not cutting to the chase, and I really needed to get back to work again. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I have really noticed a change in your work. Your photos, they've gone from the mediocre portraits of a scared college graduate, to real work of art," he said, standing now and walking around to my side of the desk.

I was stupefied. Another compliment? What's he getting at? I managed to mumble a thank you. He leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "You are a great asset to this newspaper."

I nodded and he continued. "The reason I asked you to my office was not to butter you up and shower you with compliments, though I have quite a few more. I asked you in here to see if you'd accompany me to dinner."

I was dumbfounded and I could feel my jaw hanging open. "What are you getting at, Mr. Cullen?"

He blinked at me and furrowed his brow. I noticed the line that formed between his two eyebrows as he frowned. "Ms. Swan, you are a beautiful, bright girl. I happen to like beautiful, bright girls. I would like to talk more about you're project."

I shook my head. Was he asking me out because he thought I was attractive? Or because he wanted to discuss work, as colleagues. I was having a mental argument with myself about the possibilities and when I looked up at him, he was grinning a lop-sided grin. "So, how about it, Isabella?"

God, he made my legs weak when his velvety voice said my name. How about it? Did I want to waste my time on this famed player? Did I want to get wrapped up in him, only to have him discard me like next week's trash? Damn right I did. Because I'm lonely, desperate and horny enough to lower my standard's this one time. As long as I told myself that this was only a fling, that I did would not gain me a higher position in the newspaper, and that I could not get attached.

I nodded slowly, blushing as I did. "Sure. But I don't expect anything out of it. Like a raise or anything. The coffee this morning really was a nice gesture. Nothing else."

He laughed heartily. "I know. So, if you'd go get your stuff we can be on our way."

I nearly choked on my own saliva. "We're-we're going tonight?"

He laughed again. "Well, aren't you hungry?"

"No," I lied. My belly growled traitorously. "Yes. But-but I'm not dressed nicely. I've got a lot of work to do, I-I…"

"You're making up excuses, Isabella. You look fine, very cosmopolitan. And I'm the boss and I say it can wait. Now, would you like to eat, or not?"

He was growing impatient, and I could feel my opportunity slipping away. "All right. But no where ostentatious. I'm horribly under-dressed for a date."

"A date? Is that what this is?" he asked, smirking once again.


End file.
